Upon the Resurrection of Buffy the Vampire Slayer
by Sarah-neko
Summary: A poem by Spike - or should I say William the Bloody? Rated for coarse language, as you might expect.


Spike's Poem

**Author's Note  
**This is my first piece of _BtVS_ fanwork (normally I write stories based on _The Vision of Escaflowne_) and I would like to apologise in advance for any inaccuracies which may have cropped up as a result of my only having seen up to 'Into the Woods,' Season Five. This is because I live in New Zealand and have to read ahead on the Internet if I want to stay up to date. My knowledge of later episodes comes from the excellent episode guide at [http://www.enteract.com/~perridox/SunS/episodes.html][1]. 

This is a poem written in character as Spike (during an MA class on _Samson Agonistes_ by John Milton, incidentally), supposedly right after the events of 'Bargaining, I & II.' I wanted to see if I could combine the, uh, unique poetic talent of William the Bloody with something of the character of present-day Spike. Please bear in mind that this is not my idea of a good poem. Spike is up there with William McGonagall and Amanda McKittrick Ros in the Bad Poets Society. But his heart is in the right place. (Slightly to the left of the middle of his chest.)

**UPON THE RESURRECTION OF BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER**

I hope to win the love of Buffy,  
Even though I'm pretty scruffy,  
Even though I've been a bastard,  
My hopes are still not totally blasted.   
Returning from between dimensions,  
I hope she'll love my good intentions.  
With eyes that have grown sad and strange,  
I hope she'll see I mean to change. 

Because I would not bite or nip,  
Even without this bloody chip,  
Because I've tried to help her friends -  
I know, I know, it all depends.  
I'm never going to deserve her;  
I can only try to serve her  
And hope, before I meet my end  
She might call me her boyfriend.

My heart is burning in two fires:  
Flames of hope and my desires.  
I know how it'll feel to die.  
Her contempt has made me cry.  
Doggerel is what I write,  
I can't make it not sound trite.  
I am bloody, hand and pen,  
A crappy poet, now as then.  
But I beg you, be indulgent  
While I praise my love effulgent.

Aphrodite Nemesis,  
She is all my bane and bliss.  
She is golden Summers heat.  
She looks good enough to eat.  
She has a soul of shining steel.  
She me wounds, she can me heal.  
She is broken-hearted brave.  
Her hair has got a natural wave.  
I hated her as much as now  
I love her, and I don't know how  
I could have been so bloody wrong  
About so much and for so long.

Although a human soul I lack  
I hope she'll grow to love me back.  
My one surviving human part  
Is a true romantic heart.  
My soul was lost with my last breath  
But Love's invulnerable to Death.  
And Buffy, old Death cannot hold her,  
Though in grave she lay to moulder,  
She is back among us, whole  
Body restored to bear her soul.  
Which soul, since Death could not it bind,  
Is Love itself, that's what I find.

Buffy's Love, and Love is what  
I've always lived for, all I've got.  
Even before I knew her name  
What made me tick was still the same.  
I didn't understand at first  
What I need was what I cursed.  
I gave my heart to a skanky nutter  
Who drop-kicked it into a gutter.  
It was a crying waste of love  
And the bitch gave me the shove.

Buffy is not like Drusilla.  
She's a different kind of killer.  
I love her guts, I love her rage,  
I could write page after page,  
About just how much arse she kicks.  
She has had me shitting bricks.  
You've got to love a girl that tough;  
No-one can stand up to Buff.  
She could fix Zhang Ziyi's wagon  
Off _Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon.  
_And she could kick Xena's tush  
And beat Lara Croft to mush.  
And she has a master's degree  
In snappy battle repartee.

Her only flaw, a tragic waste,  
Is her truly shocking taste  
In men - she's drunk the loving cup  
With Angel, whose hair grows straight up,  
And a corn-fed Iowa G.I. Joe  
Who, bless him, lately chose to go  
To Belize, where they grow bananas,  
And I hope he gets eaten by piranhas.  
Angel, I am sad to say,  
Is still undead and in L.A,  
With Drusilla and his 'mother'  
And I must say they deserve each other.

Obviously, my lovely Bufferer  
Is like many girls a sufferer  
From the lack of a Loser Detector  
Which from dickweeds would protect her.  
In this I see my greatest hope,  
The only thing that helps me cope:  
If she really could not see  
Their gross unsuitability,  
Maybe I too have a chance  
And she'll let me have this dance.  
Some advertising men suggest,  
'You've tried the rest, now try the best.'  
I think the course of Buffy's affection  
Tends in the opposite direction.  
She seems to fancy all the worst  
Men she could, from last to first.  
She's her own worst enemy,

So logically,

Eventually,

Even existentially,

She must ultimately,

Turn to me.

You wait and see.

I'll love that girl inside and out.  
She will never feel a doubt  
That love our hearts will long combine  
A spike in hers, a stake in mine.

**Language Note:** The British expression 'to be shitting bricks' means to be afraid. Very afraid.

   [1]: http://www.enteract.com/~perridox/SunS/episodes.html



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